//------------------------------//
// Chapter 5: Just Give Up 
// Story: Worth Less Than a Fly 
// by nightshade745 
//------------------------------//


Nash was lying on his side as the leaves above him swayed. Rays of sunlight would periodically sneak through and strike his form. Around him, the sounds of nature were hard at work trying to make the day as majestic as possible. Nash listened contently to the things going on around him as he tried to decide what to do. He was still stuck in the tree and he couldn’t bring himself to fly out, and his potential saviors were freaked out by his appearance.

His eyes lazily drifted around in their sockets, trying to latch onto something he could entertain himself with. Nothing drew his attention or gave his mind a release. The leaves and branches above were old and boring by now. He could probably tell you just how many dead twigs were still attached to the tree at this point. “I really am pathetic.” He told himself for the hundredth time. He knew he could fly, but the sheer height prevented him from even trying. “God, I really am a coward.”

There was a suspicious rustling of leaves nearby. Nash tried to look over, but he couldn’t see the offender without moving his head. With a tiny grunt of frustration, Nash lifted his head so he could swing it around. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. He continued to analyze the area despite the fact that nothing looked different. After a short while of swinging his head, he sighed and laid back down.  Then he heard a slight rush of air. It was probably the wind. The thing that finally got Nash to stand up was a thump and rumble. Nash’s heart was beating much faster as he jumped to his hooves and turned around.

A massive black crow had landed farther down the branch! If Nash was remembering correctly, crows are birds and birds eat bugs. “Shadaico, if you’re nearby, I could use some help,” Nash whispered to himself like a prayer. The crow appeared to stand at 28 feet to Nash. In reality, it was only 14 inches. The crow's head flicked about wildly as though it had the shortest attention span in history. Nash’s legs had locked up as he watched the crow intently. He knew it was eyeing him, but it was keeping its distance for now.

One hop was enough to get Nash to step back. The crow’s clawed toes dug into the bark. They could easily wrap around Nash's chest and that beak was bigger than his head. The crow hopped forward again. Nash took another step back. His head was tilted up at the crow’s empty soulless eyes. Nash’s flight response was kicking in. He had to run for it. The crow hopped a third time. Its head stopped darting around and focused on him. Nash’s face must have been as pale as his wings.

There was still a distance between the two as the crow spread its wings. Then it leaned its head down toward the ground and inhaled. There was a brief stillness. The black bird gave a mighty call. To Nash, it was like a monstrous roar! That was enough stimulation to get Nash moving. Nash bolted in the opposite direction of the bird.

Nash could hear the massive claws of the crow grind into the bark as it chased after him. Nash’s gallop was a little sloppy, but he was keeping his balance. But the bird was too fast and he ran himself right into a wall. Nash turned in time to see the crow stop. Nash was pinned. The crow took his time rearing his head back. It was going to swallow him in one gulp!

At the last second, Nash was able to duck under the beak as it stabbed the tree trunk. Nash shot forward between the crow’s talons, but he wasn’t fast enough. One of the clawed feet lifted up and grabbed onto his wings. Nash hadn’t even realized they were out. The claw sliced into his wings as he struggled to escape. He could feel his wings being torn apart. The socket where the wings attached to his back screamed, but the wings themselves felt numb as his sense of them seemed to disappear. Nash let his cries of terror and pain loose as he tore free of the claws.

Rolling away slightly only amplified the burning on his back. Nash didn’t have time to see how bad the damage was, because a certain bird was darting for him. He somehow got to his hooves and dodged the next blow. But he went too far and stepped off the edge of the branch! Nash was falling and his wings probably had huge tares in them. He got lucky when he collided with a clump of leaves before sliding down onto another large branch. Looking up, the crow took a second to reacquire a lock on him. Nash took this opportunity to run some more. He had to get away.

The crow picked up on his movements quickly and flew done to continue the hunt. Nash was running from a flying predator, but he had nowhere to run to. He peeked back just as the crow was diving. He tried to roll as the bird blazed over his small form. Nash’s roll wasn’t perfect and he flopped about. But it worked and the beast had missed. The crow turned around as it landed ahead. Nash ended his roll with his head upside down against the ground with his butt and tail hanging in his vision. His head felt stiff.

Nash straightened his back and returned his backside to its rightful spot behind him. Nash looked forward at an upside-down world, complete with an evil hungry crow preparing to charge again! Nash panicked and desperately tried to roll forward onto his hooves, but his head was pressed flat against the branch…his horn was impaled in the wood! Nash desperately tried curling his head forward to pry his horn from the wood. It wouldn’t budge. He could see the crow begin its charge and he was still stuck, he was going to die!

The crow was taking his charge a little slower than last time. Nash had a few seconds to continue prying his horn from the branch. He gained a few precious inches before the terrifying bird was on him. The crow was going in for the kill, but seemed to realize his prey was stuck. So he took a step closer first. The bird loomed over him and thrust his beak down. Out of ideas, out of time, out of hope, Nash kicked his back legs up and over his form with as much strength as he could muster!

Nash had closed his eyes a second before. The goal was to kick the beak away. But Nash’s timing was many seconds early. His legs flew up over his head and kept going. His neck crunched and bent and was wrenched up. His horn exploded from the hole just as the beak was coming past him and stabbing into the wood where his torso had been a second before. It all happened in slow motion; his horn popped out of the hole, the beak slamming into the wood, his head flying upwards, his horn driving deep into the crow’s neck just past the beak, his momentum causing him to drive a long gash down its neck!

The crow flung its head side to side as it let out horrible cries. Nash stumbled backwards underneath the predator. The bird copied his movement as its wings went out. Nash was standing below the animal’s beak as he was suddenly swiped at by a wing. Nash was flung through the air and collided with a larger branch higher up, but not before he smacked into another much thinner branch first. The smaller one had bent back under the force of the crash and remained pressed between Nash’s belly and the other branch. Nash was being pushed away by the tension in the thinner one. The only reason he wasn’t being fired like a catapult, was thanks to his fangs that had been driven into the larger branch on impact.

Nash’s mouth felt like it was being ripped in half. He had to ignore the pain as the crow faced him from behind and prepared to strike again. Nash caught blurry glances of it in his peripheral vision. When its wings shot out, Nash began to squirm. He ground his hooves against the rough surface, trying with all his strength to get a foothold or enough friction to pull himself up. He found it! Nash was plucked up with a kick just as his attacker was coming. The tense thin branch was suddenly released and whipped back through the air! The crow couldn’t stop, the branch wacked him in the face and sent him spinning out of control.

Nash stood and was disturbed to find the bird was gone. He had heard the whip and the smack, but he didn’t know what happened. Nash gingerly crawled to the edge and looked down. The dark crow was shaking his feathers in an attempt to flatten them back down after he fell all the way back down to the grass below. After it stopped shaking, it looked up to him with narrow eyes. Nash knew what it was saying, “this ain’t over, bug.”

Nash gave a heavy sigh through his gasps for breath as the crow took to the skies. “What a battle,” he admitted. He was just happy to be alive still. Stepping back from the ledge again, his legs were still shaking and his back still stung. Nash hung his head low, letting his sweaty mane droop over his face. His breathing was deep and rapid. His first near-death experience in this world and there would be many more to come if he didn’t figure something out.

Nash suddenly went stiff. “What about my wings?” he asked himself. Nash turned around to look at what was left of them. If he had asked someone else how his wings looked, they would have responded, “what wings?” Nash’s wing had been bigger than his body when fully extended. They had been great and, for lack of a better word, beautiful. Gorgeous additions to his back that fulfilled an old childhood dream were now gone. All that remained were pitiful stumps. A thin shred of each wing no longer than three Nash inches. The edges looked like neatly torn paper.

Now there was no hope at all. Nash no longer had the wings to get out of the tree. He was going to die in that tree. Nash stared at the stubs that had been wings for a few minutes, trying to face the fact that he was a dead…whatever he was now. Once it had finally sunk in, Nash collapsed on the wooden surface. He hid his face under his hooves and cried. His wing stumps burned, he was trapped in a tree, and sooner or later hunger was going to kick in and finish him off.



Nash sagged in his hole. The leaf blanket loosely covering him. The sun was dipping below the horizon again as Nash continued to wait for his hunger to kick in. After two days, he still didn’t feel hungry. He didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. It could mean he was some kind of creature that didn’t need to eat and had the potential to regrow his wings. But, on the other hand--hoof--it could mean starving to death just took longer; making the agony last longer.

The telltale signs of Shadaico calling came to him. Nash didn’t lift his head up as he opened the chat line in his own mind.

Shadaico sounded excited, “this world is weird. You should have seen this weird chicken-headed-snake...thing!”

“That’s great,” Nash mumbled back.

“I thought you’d be more excited to still be alive.”

“Not going to be for long at this rate. Can you come help me, I’ve been injured.”

“What happened?”

“My wings got torn off.” Nash was barely mumbling his responses.

“Where are you?”

“In the tree still. There’s this huge white castle right by me.”

“You’re by a castle?”

“Yeah, up on a mountain.”

“Ooh. Sorry, there’s a castle where I am too, but it’s in a forest. Well let’s see…wait, you got wings?!”

“I did, their gone now. And my back hurts now.”

Shadaico paused for a moment, “I’m not seeing a white castle on a mountain. If I see it, I’ll do my best to get there. Just hang on Nash, I’m on my way!” (The connection was lost)

“Please hurry,” Nash said to himself.



The sun was not appreciated. Nash let his eyes pull themselves up. He could truly do nothing and saw no reason to do anything anymore. He lay there, no motivation to even leave the small hole he claimed as his home. The stumps on his back only throbbed now. Nash could only hope that Shadaico would save him and that his wings would grow back in time. Even those thoughts and those hopes could not seem to get him up. But a thirst finally gave him the push to leave.

Groans and grunts emanated from his minuscule form. Nash’s throat did not agree with any sounds he made when it was so parched. Nash dragged his hooves across the wood as he walked to the leaf bowl. Morning dew had made sure it was full each morning and it was one branch lower with a nice group of leaves he could use as a ramp down or up. The bowl was actually a dent in the wood that a leaf had draped over and gave a more fashionable look to.

Nash dipped his muzzle down into the pool and slurped loudly. He didn’t care how poor his manners were. After he had his fill, he began dragging his hooves back up to his hole. He paused on his way back and looked up. There was a small space in the leaves where he could see out to the clear blue skies. “Why have you cheated me again?”

An angry Nash backed into his hole again before flopping down. Leaning his head to the side, he let his eyes pull closed. Just before his eyes closed completely he heard distant, but still loud, voices. It was strange how the voices were so distorted by distance, yet kept such volume. Letting his curiosity bloom, Nash shuffled out of his hole again. The voices were getting closer and louder. Three creatures were coming his way. He didn’t understand the words, but he could tell there was a little bit of arguing going on. One of them sounded really mad, one sounded scared, and the last one sounded skeptical.

Nash heard a sudden shout as the three creatures rushed underneath his tree. The two horse like creatures from yesterday were back, and they brought company…



Fun Facts:
The average crow grows to about 21 inches in length and lives to be about 20 years old. The oldest crow on record, lived to be just over 50 years old. Crows are very curious creatures and like to copy each other's behavior...which has led to the world wide phenomenon of crows playing with windshield wipers!? A crow somewhere got the idea to play with a pair and another crow watched. He then went off and played with some wiper blades and other crows saw and went off to copy him.